


The Vlad and Roswell collection

by Kingu



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Italian Medic, M/M, OCs - Freeform, One is a Mafia boss with money and the other is a spoilt gold digger, Russian/Persian Heavy, Some are SFW some are NSFW, TF2 OCs, They mostly hate eachother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9302390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingu/pseuds/Kingu
Summary: A place for me and Tex to put all the short fics/drabbles and RP's we've done for our OC's, Vlad and Roswell.





	1. Bath Time

**Author's Note:**

> You can see all Vlad & Roswell's art and learn more about them on their blog: http://vladwell.tumblr.com/
> 
> Vlad: Cis male, 52 years old, Born in Iran, Red Team (Heavy weapons class), very tall & muscular (a very big man in general) Russian mafia connections, Met Roswell in prison, Cigar smoker, Agnostic, Quick tempered, Good sense of humour.
> 
> Roswell: Cis male, 49 years old, Born in Italy, Red Team (Medic class) Short and pear shaped, Raised in catholic orphanage, found work as a backstreet Doctor in Italy, Met Vlad in prison, Catholic, Bratty, selfish, materialistic, feisty.
> 
> Ref: http://vladwell.tumblr.com/image/138074129453

**Bath Time [Short fic]**

**Rating:** Mature

 **Warnings:** Dubious consent

 

Hailing from Italy, one would think Roswell would be somewhat use to warm weather, but even he can’t seem to adapt to the ungodly temperature this month’s unexpected heat wave has brought upon the normally mild American suburb. The air wavers with thick heat, everything is dry and yet damp, sticky and muggy with humidity. It’s unbearable.

 

Around noon, the hottest point of the day, where the sun is baking high in the sky with not a single cloud to bring some merciful shade with it, Roswell is spread out on one of Vlad’s oversized leather sofas, legs and arms splayed with all the grace of road kill. His socks lie in screwed up balls on the floor, pant legs rolled up to the knee, the buttons of his work shirt hastily undone as he lies with one arm thrown over his eyes. Every now and again he emits a loud groan or sigh of distress to the empty room, simply informing the sun of all things of how unhappy he was with its presence.

 

Every crevice of his body is damp with sweat, and he has to practically peel himself off the leather to fetch his drink from the side table, but the ice has melted and the water is practically lukewarm, causing the Medic to sigh dramatically once again. Enough was enough.

 

Roswell tries not to give the damp imprint he’s left of the cushions too much notice as he rises to stand, sighing with effort as does. His bare feet slap softly against the floor as he makes his way out of the den, up the stairs, and to the bathroom, leaving a trail of belt, pants, and eventually shirt in his wake for Vlad to find and deal with. Normally he wouldn’t _dare_ strip off without the safety of a locked door to barricade himself behind, knowing the _beastly_ Russian could be lurking anywhere, but the promise of a cold shower proves a powerful lure.

 

Quietly as he can, the Italian slips inside the bathroom, hopping on one foot as he attempts to wrangle his underwear down his thighs. Already the bathroom tiles are welcomingly cold against his feet, but when he eventually glances toward the enormous bathtub, he shrieks.

 

Vlad’s massive form is wedged in the tub, filling it to capacity, despite how his knees are bent. His burly arms rest around the edge, content as a pig in mud. Immediately Roswell goes red up to his ears as the clear water does little to hide Vlad’s _endowments_ , not that Vlad seems to care, thighs splayed open for the world to see. The giant does however jump as Roswell screeches like a startled cat, sending water sloshing over the edge, his eyes snapping open from where he’d been dozing.

 

“ _What?_ What is it?” The Russian asks in a thoroughly fed up tone, as Roswell scrambles to pull a towel off the rail to quickly cover himself.

 

“Why are you here?!” Roswell asks sharply, throwing the Giant an accusing look. Vlad simply stares back, one eyebrow raised.

 

“It’s too hot” He says flatly, sinking back into the water which rises up to his armpits, sighing in content. Roswell can’t help but peer in envy. There’s no steam in the room, the air is clear and chilled. The water looks cold and crisp and if it weren’t for stupid old Vlad, Roswell would have jumped straight in.  After a moment, Vlad slides one eye open to stare quizzically at the surprisingly naked Italian, letting his eyes wander with no hint of restraint. “Why are _you_ here?”

 

Securing the towel fully around himself, Roswell scowls, resisting the urge to stamp his foot in anger.

 

“ _I_ wanted to take a shower” He says in a sulk, wrapping his arms around himself defensively as though it were scandalous to let Vlad see even an inch of skin.

 

Vlad gives a nonchalant shrug, closing his eyes again, the hair at the nape of his neck beginning to curl as it dips into the water “Have one when I’m done”

 

The answer doesn’t appear good enough for the Doctor, who doesn’t move, staring expectantly at the Russian as though he could move him through sheer will power.

 

“But I want one _now_ . The pool cleaner didn’t turn up again and I’m not swimming in that _swamp_ ”

 

“A few leaves will not kill you, _херувим_ ” Vlad says without opening his eyes, which only serves to infuriate the Medic even more. He continues to glare resentfully at the dozing Russian, even daring to fold his arms and cock his hip, the image of impatience. Vlad doesn’t even have to look at the Italian to know what he is doing, nor what he expects.

 

“I’m not moving, Roswell”

 

Vlad’s ears are met with an immediate frustrated huff, the slap of a bare foot stamping upon the tiles as Roswell riles himself up into miniature tantrum mode.

 

“ _Vlad!”_ He whines, fists curling at his side as he bares his teeth in a bratty sneer “I _want_ a _shower!”_

 

“Tough!” Vlad snaps back, brow furrowing as the horrible little brat threatens to ruin his wonderfully cold bath. There was no peace, living with Roswell. Especially not when he was hot, bothered, and extremely irritable.

 

“You’re so unfair!” The Italian continues, much to Vlad’s chagrin “Why couldn’t we stay in the other house? That one has _three_ bathrooms, _and_ a clean pool. Honestly, I’d get better accommodation back in the _orphanage_ ”

 

“Then I will put you in a box and send you back there. First class” By now, Vlad has given up on trying to enjoy his bath, leaning one arm over the side to look at Roswell directly.

 

“Why don’t you just get in with me? There’s room” He suggests, with a surprisingly casual and _un-menacing_ tone, even keeping his eyes from roaming. Roswell sneers at the very suggestion.

 

“Not a _chance_ ”

 

Vlad only shrugs, sinking back into the cool water, droplets clinging to every curl of dark hair and inch of tanned skin.

 

“Fine, then you’ll have to wait”

 

There’s a long moment of silence, Vlad can practically sense the Italian’s internal struggle as the little Medic looks beseechingly between the door and the tub, weighing his options. The Russian smiles inwardly as he hears the soft thump of a towel hitting the floor, it takes a monumental amount of effort to keep his eyes closed as Roswell quickly pads over to the bathtub.

 

“Move, then”

 

It’s Lucky for them both that Roswell is of small proportions, As despite how Vlad draws his knees up to allow the Italian some room, there’s still not an _awful_ lot of space.

 

Roswell makes a conscious effort to touch the Russian as little as possible, keeping a hand firmly over his nethers and even wrapping an arm around his chest as he dips a toe in to the practically freezing water. Vlad feels the water ripple by his ankles and cracks an eye open to peek before Roswell can practically submerge himself in the water.

 

“There” He smiles once Roswell is seated, knees drawn up as he sits in a defensive ball at the very far end of the tub “Isn’t that better?”

 

Ignoring the Russian, Roswell makes a noise of sheer _bliss_ as the wonderfully cold water comes up to his shoulders, eyes sliding shut as he sinks down just a little, the all-consuming heat slowly draining from his body to be replaced by a refreshing chill. He does frown however when Vlad starts trying to play _footsie_ with him _._ The Russian receives a sharp kick under the water for his efforts, before Roswell draws his legs in tight, attempting to put as much distance between the two as possible.

 

“Try anything gross and I’m leaving” Roswell snaps, though with a little less venom than usual, the relief of finally being cold dousing his usual fiery temper. He doesn’t even bother to open his eyes, lolling his head back in content against the edge of the tub. Vlad scoffs, doing exactly the same, the two lying at their respective ends of the bath in a fairly comfortable silence.

 

“Don’t worry. It’s far too hot for that”

 

The two sit in silence for a good ten minutes, simply basking in the refreshing cool, listening to the rhythmic slosh of water as Vlad’s belly rises and falls with his slow breathing.

Roswell nearly manages to doze off before the Russian nudges him with his foot.

 

“Roswell”

 

The Italian makes a noncommittal grunt, frowning as he remembers just who he’s sharing a bath with.

 

“What”

 

“Come here”

 

“No”

 

“Come on”

 

“I don’t want to”

 

Vlad gradually opens his eyes and sits up a little, resting one arm around the back of the tub and beckoning the medic with a wave of his hand.

 

“I’ll wash your hair for you”

 

Roswell’s eyes slide open, but remain narrow in deep suspicion at the Russians seemingly innocent invitation. He keeps that sceptical expression, but after a moment, he slowly and cautiously slides closer, water rippling around him as he awkwardly situates himself between Vlad’s thighs, leaning back against his wet and hairy belly.

 

The Italian eventually begins to relax as Vlad provides the comfort of a big, hairy armchair, using his burly chest as a makeshift pillow. He allows his eyes to slowly drift shut as Vlad cups handfuls of water and lets them trickle over his skull, wetting his silky black hair. Vlad’s calloused fingers are surprisingly gentle as they massage shampoo into the Doctor’s scalp, combing through his silky locks and lightly scratching his head. Roswell practically _melts_ under his touch, eyes closed and making occasional soft noises of content, or even _pleasure_ when Vlad gets a particularly good spot.

 

It’s all very tranquil and relaxing, and Roswell feels uncharacteristically content; Until he feels something hard poking him in the small of the back. Apparently his soft little moans didn’t go unnoticed, as Vlad starts sucking on the side of his neck, while his calloused fingers slip down to play with the Doctor’s nipples.

 

 _So much for a relaxing bath_ . The little Medic simply isn’t fast enough to avoid being bent over the side of the tub, with shampoo as improvised lube; he makes a mental note to never _ever_ let his guard down around the beastly Russian again.

 


	2. Back door Santa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short, nsfw christmas-themed drabble. Vlad & Roswell are drunk and Vlad has a santa costume on.

**Back door santa [Short fic/drabble]**

**Rating:** mature/explicit

 **Warnings:** Drunk sex, dubious consent

 

The smell of gingerbread and spiced wine candles is a sickening aroma, as Roswell stuffs his face into the damp pillow, eyes bleary as weak, pitiful moans escape him, fingers curling into the fabric.  Eartha kitt’s “Santa baby” warbles away on the record player, crackling over the heavy breathing of the pair on the bed.

 

Vlad readjusts his santa hat for probably the tenth time as it slips down over his damp brow, his red and white felt pants tangled around his knees, chest bare as his fingers work silently between the Doctor’s wet thighs. His own cock is thick and leaking against the bedsheets. His beard tickles and scratches at Roswell’s neck as he slowly kisses from shoulder to ear, his breath stiflingly warm against the Medic’s skin, heady with the smell of beer.

 

“Have you been good this year, _Moy_ _херувим?”_ The russian mutters huskily, a smirk teasing at his lips, his fingertips rubbing silky smooth lubricant against Roswell’s hole. Roswell only groans in tipsy despair, his own empty wine glass abandoned on the nightstand, tired and drunk beneath the burly russian, he can barely muster a sneer. He lies on his side, legs tucked up and clutching the pillow, as Vlad’s fingers rub and tease as his sensitive opening, leering over him with that ridiculous expression and even more _ridiculous_ outfit.

 

“An _angel”_ The Doctor scoffs, his body giving an involuntary twitch and Vlad strokes over his taint, lighting his nerves on fire. His head is swimming, it feels like there are hands everywhere, warm and calloused, touching his skin, pulling at his nipples and making them stiff.

 

“ _Good._ Because you know Santa only visits good girls and boys…” Vlad huffs against the Medic’s neck, sucking at the sweet spot under his ear before dragging his wide tongue around the shell of his ear, causing Roswell to shudder and groan. The Doctor screws his shoulder up defensively, but his body is _so_ hot, hair strewn across the pillow in sweaty tendrils, his hands push weakly at the Russian’s own, to no avail.

 

“I _am_ good” The Medic mumbles defensively, a pink blush staining his bratty sneer, gasping breathlessly when Vlad’s fingers slip inside him, writhing and thrusting gently, making his knees weak.

 

Vlad only chuckles, stroking the Doctors sinfully hot insides with fluid curls of his fingers that make the Medic _melt_. But that was just the wine, So Roswell would say.

“Santa’s sack is _so_ big and heavy-” The Russian continues to rumble, pulling his fingers free, only to smear the rest of the lube along his cock and press it up against the Medic’s tight heat. The Russian pauses with a cruel smirk, the hot, blunt head of his cock threatening to push through Roswell’s tight muscles. Roswell looks halfway between horrified and _begging_ for it, eyes hooded and bleary, mouth hanging open as his warm breath spills from between his lips. The Russian leans in close, lips pressed against the Italian’s ear as he growls;

 

“Santa is going to come _so_ hard down your chimney, it will be the whitest christmas in _history_ ”

 

   



	3. Small things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vlad comes home to find Roswell in a bit of a state after one of his crows has died. Hurt/comfort.

**Small things [Short fic/drabble]**

**Rating:** Teens & up

 **Warnings:** Angst, animal death, hurt/comfort

 

Vlad comes home from “Work” late on a Tuesday evening. It’s a dark, starless night, grey and dismal as the rain pours down his car windscreen. It’s been raining since he first got in the car, and doesn’t show any signs of stopping.

 

By this point his brain is on autopilot, turning the wheel nearly without thinking, the car rumbles through the open gates and onto the driveway, before pulling in to the turning circle, wipers working quietly against the oncoming weather. He’s tired, and all he can think about is putting his feet up with some good food and the television. He pulls into his spot, twisting the keys to cut the engine.

 

Silently, he gathers his coat over his head, briefcase under one arm as he makes a dash for the door, puddles soaking into the hems of his trousers and splashing over the toes of his polished shoes.

 

He turns his key in the door quickly to get out of the abysmal weather, bringing in a gust of wind and rain before slamming it shut behind him. In a second, his coat and bag are thrown aside, and he’s home.

 

Almost immediately, he notices something is different. It’s dark, not a single light in the hall is on, and Vlad stops. He listens, but it’s strangely quiet.

 

“Roswell?” He calls, confused. Slowly, the Russian crosses the wooden floor, peering around for his partner.

 

After a brief moment of concern, He finds the Doctor in the living room, curled up on the sofa with half a glass of wine, staring angrily at the TV. The room is pitch black aside from the harsh white glare of the screen, but Roswell continues to squint through tired, red eyes. He doesn’t seem to notice Vlad’s presence, so he repeats again.

 

“Roswell?”

 

The Italian blinks for a moment, his brow furrowed, looking both confused and irritable, as though he’d been sleeping with his eyes wide open, in some sort of trance. He looks over his shoulder at the Russian, and Vlad notices just how red and bleary his eyes actually are.

 

“Oh” Roswell voice comes out as a croak, and he sniffs, quickly running a hand through his hair and smoothing it in to place “You’re home”

 

Vlad hasn’t moved from the door, folding his arms and leaning against the doorframe, just taking a moment to assess the scene before him.  

 

“Mm. So, how was your day?” He asks evenly, but he’s rightfully suspicious. Something was definitely off.

“Fine” The Doctor is too quick to answer, not looking away from the screen.

 

“Did you eat dinner?”

 

“Yes”

 

“Good”

 

There’s a long lull of silence, Vlad looks about the room, wanting to make some kind of comment, but Roswell gets there first.

 

“Do you need something? Or can I get back to my show?”

 

He spits the words out without breaking eye contact with the screen, but Vlad knows he’s not at all invested, just blankly staring and not really taking any of it in.

 

Vlad only shrugs, before stepping away from the door. He switches the lamp on, and immediately Roswell huffs an angry sigh. With the now provided visibility, Vlad spots a shoebox, sitting on the coffee table that he’d previously missed.

 

“What’s that?”

 

The giant makes the mistake of slowly reaching a hand out to investigate, only to have Roswell practically launches himself at him with a furious “ _ Don’t touch that!” _

 

It startles the Russian so much that he actually freezes, before raising his hands in surrender, but Roswell already has a grip on the sleeve of his shirt, knuckles white and shaking.

 

“Okay! Okay, sorry” Vlad grumbles, but his curiosity leads him to ask “Why, what is it?” curiosity then turns to suspicion, and he frowns “It’s not something illegal, is it?”

 

Roswell’s fierce glare goes wide for a second, before he sharply rips his hand away, turning to stare at the box, eyes distant and dim.

 

“It’s nothing. Just leave it alone” He mutters, folding his arms tightly, almost hugging himself. Now Vlad is  _ really _ starting to worry. For a moment, he is silent, but then he takes a step closer to the Doctor.

 

“ _ херувим (Cherub) _ , Are you alright?” The pet name is a favourite of Vlad’s to use, sometimes in ironic unkindness, sometimes in lust, but now he says it softly, fondly, as though talking to a child.

 

It’s something Roswell isn’t use to, the gentleness,  _ kindness _ , and in his emotional state, the sudden compassion makes his chest clench in a way he’s unfamiliar too, and he finds he doesn’t like the feeling at all. His chin creases as he sucks in his bottom lip in an attempt to stop it quivering. He doesn’t dare blink less it force his tears to spill. Vlad can see him struggling.

 

“I’m  _ fine _ ” The Italian insists fiercely, before looking at his feet and shrugging, mumbling almost to himself “It’s just a  _ stupid bird _ ”

 

Suddenly, Vlad understands. The little shoebox placed carefully on the table suddenly takes on a new meaning, and he sighs.

 

“Oh,  _ котенок _ ”

 

Roswell’s entire body goes rigid as two huge, warm arms wrap around him, and he’s pulled close, Vlad’s hooked nose burying into his soft hair.

 

“I’m sorry” The Giant murmurs against the top of his head, and Roswell can’t help but note how infuriatingly  _ warm _ he is “Which one?”

 

After the initial trepidation of Vlad being anywhere  _ near _ him has subsided, Roswell’s face gradually crumples, and he turns and shoves his face into Vlad’s chest.

 

“Bianca”

 

Vlad has to suppress a snort, but apparently he doesn’t hide it well enough, as Roswell’s head snaps up, looking irate.

 

“You called a crow “Bianca”?” Vlad asks with a hint of a smirk, only to receive a thump in the shoulder.

 

“Sorry” Vlad chuckles, practically cradling the Medic in his massive arms. He feels the tiny Italian’s shoulders rise and fall with a shaky sigh.

 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Things die, that’s life” The Doctor mutters somewhat resentfully.

 

Vlad lets him be for a moment, idly stroking one huge palm down his back as Roswell leans his cheek against Vlad’s barrelled chest. The Russian can’t help but notice how awkward and stiff the Medic feels in his arms. He continues rubbing his back, before ducking his head and muttering directly into Roswell’s ear;

 

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” The manner in which Vlad poses the question in that menacing sultry purr makes Roswell squirm right out of the Russian’s grip, opening his arms like a gate and stepping well away.

 

“No” He snaps, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve, the usual snarky, irritated look returning to his features, ready to fight off the Russian if necessary. But to his surprise, Vlad doesn’t persist, simply shrugging and looking about the room.

 

“Suit yourself” He says offhandedly, as he turns and plunks himself down on the sofa. He then looks to Roswell and pats the cushion next to him.

 

Understandably, Roswell is wary, eyeing the Giant for any signs of malicious or  _ perverted  _ intent.

 

“Come, sit” Is all Vlad says, Raising his arm to provide the ideal space for Roswell to slot in to.

 

The Doctor isn’t entirely convinced, but he finds himself missing the Heavy’s solid warmth, his grief apparently making him vulnerable.  He doesn’t look particularly happy as he slowly slinks over, but he slides in next to the big, warm Russian regardless, drawing his knees up and allowing Vlad to slip an arm around his shoulders.

 

The two watch late night soaps in silence, as Vlad softly strokes Roswell’s long hair, as the Doctor gradually relaxes against his side.

 

He makes plans for tomorrow to dig a suitable hole in the garden for Bianca. 

 


End file.
